


Four-nineteen

by annieke



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Episode Tag, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:56:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1518158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annieke/pseuds/annieke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Danny exchanged those words, and now Steve's trying to figure out what they mean and why he can't seem to get them out of his head.</p><p>Set several days post ep 4.19.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four-nineteen

**Author's Note:**

> Hope adding one more coda to the wonderfully growing list isn't one more too many  
> I wanted to explore what they might be doing a few days afterward. The title, well...it's a stretch. lol
> 
> ***

"No, not really, Steve. I'm not sure I understand any of it, actually," Catherine's saying and her voice is quiet but rough and she looks hurt and angry and…confused. Mostly just confused.

Which is okay because he’s feeling pretty confused as well these days.

Picks at the label on his beer and tries to listen. Stares at his fingers wrapping around the bottle in his hand and does his best to focus. Focus. Target. Pinpoint. 

There’s a stain on his pants, though. Blood, maybe. Probably. It’s kind of hard to tell--and although it doesn’t really matter (it’s an old pair of pants, anyway) it does make him think of Danny and the pain that had been on his face, the sound of his voice when he'd pulled that piece of rebar out of Danny's side. Thinks of his own surprise at just how fucking long that thing turned out to be.

He could have killed him. Danny could have bled out right there, right under his hands, and even though Danny turned out to be okay, relatively, it's been three days since and it’s still eating him up inside. 

“Steve?”

“What?” Now Catherine’s frowning at him.

“Happy, Steve. You. Lately. Not so much. Are you even listening to me?”

Nods. “Yeah.” No. 

Happy. How could he have told Danny it just wasn’t in his DNA to be happy? Why would he say that to him? Why would anybody say that to anyone?

Because he’d been angry. Danny and Amber. It had been a thrill to exit the ocean from his swim that morning to find Danny standing on his little beach, all smirk and flaily hands. Clearly waiting for him and, geeze, it seemed like forever since Danny had even been out to his place. Well, forever as in just the two of them together. Alone. And then…

Danny's new love interest was the absolute last thing he wanted to hear about, much less have to offer up opinions. Instead, he’d picked on Danny. Hoped when he'd referred to Amber as Danny’s 'girlfriend' that Danny would start spluttering and protesting. Yet that so didn’t happen.

Hearing how very unreceptive Grace was to meeting Amber that way only made him grin. The fact he knows that Danny has now had sex with Amber? Not so much.

So, yeah: angry, annoyed, pissed off that he’d had to dwell on that vision all damned day. Danny and Amber. Danny and Amber. Sounds like some high school prom couple. God.

All morning, all of that stuck in his head followed by the fucked up take down that wasn't; he was so sure they were walking in on a buy--so sure. Then, boom.

“I’m sure I’m just being stupid. Right? Steve, right?”

“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t…probably?” She’s laughing lightly and nodding. He has no idea what she’s talking about. 

How could he be so stupid? The bomb. Danny hurt. Cobb.

Had left the police to deal with Cobb’s body that night after a long and not-so-forthright explanation of the how and whys he'd just shot the man. Called Lou first, knowing he'd be there to support him and help deal with questions he didn't yet want to—couldn't—answer, and the entire time he'd just been wishing he'd had Danny there by his side. Danny, who he'd watched heading off toward a long weekend away. with Amber. Amber, who was—is—truly beautiful. And young. Really young. 

Lou had just stared at him that night, his expression clearly stating that he knew Steve wasn't telling him even an ounce of the whole story, yet the man did what he could to wrap things up and let Steve leave along with a pointed look that told of just how much he's sure Steve is suppressing. 

Never mind what Steve knows he's actually repressing. Danny. His thoughts keep drifting to those unbearably hot hours together and what all was said and then unsaid between the two of them, and it's that more than anything that's filling his head at the moment. So much so that he can barely focus on what is actually going on in front of him.

Catherine. 

Who is frowning. "I'm just—confused, I guess, Steve. But then, that seems to be the common emotion between us any more.”

"I—I'm. Cath, I just…it's been a long couple of days is all." Which, major understatement there, but then, she knows that. He just can’t think clearly right now. Not with Danny on the brain.

She forces a smile and nods as if to say everything is going to be okay. He’s not so sure. Not so sure he wants it to be.

Remembers back to that time she was shipping out, away, and he'd handed her the white plumeria that she'd slowly tucked behind her ear--her right ear. It had been a test, he’d been pretty sure. She'd been waiting for him to say something, he knew, as they both were very aware of the Hawaiian custom of placing a flower behind the right ear to indicate romantic availability.

He could sense then how much she'd wanted him to move it from her right ear to her left ear to say she was taken. Prove that he was committed to her, and he'd done nothing. Said nothing. He couldn’t. All he’d really wanted to do at the time was get back to Danny who'd been waiting for him. What a clue that should have been at the time.

Now, there is no flower to use as a guide, and she stares directly into his eyes for a long, measurable beat. He doesn't blink until she finally sighs and looks away. Bites at her lip the same way Danny does when he's working on unraveling emotional knots.

Something inside his chest comes a little undone at the thought.

"Okay," she says and he can almost see her brain pulling pieces together to form a protective suit of armor as she stands and collects herself. He knows she'll come at him about all of this at another time; Catherine is nothing but resolute. Always has been. "Okay, Steve. Clearly you’re somewhere else right now. So. You go swim or run or do whatever it is you think you need, and I'll just…give you some space. Or something."

She hesitates and he gets the feeling she's waiting for him to ask her to stay--he’s not going to--and then she looks around for her keys, grabs them off the little table and heads up the grass toward her car.

He follows along behind her. "Cath, it isn't—"

"No, Steve, you know what? Don't," she says. Even adds a facing palm to his chest as if to ward off any more words. "You're tired. I'm tired—and like you said, it's been a hell of a long couple of days." She glances away and it makes her eyes look glassy. Damp. "I get that you think you’re feeling…" Waves a hand at that. "That was quite an ordeal that you went through. With him. And that hug the two of you... Everybody saw that. You and—I get that, Steve. I do--or, I’m trying to, anyway." She looks right at him then, not so much rambling in her thoughts like he thought she was, but pretty direct. “But the thing is, you sounded…when you both said those words to each other, you…you sounded so…”

Her words trail off but he knows she means the 'I love you's. It’s all he’s been thinking about for these past three days and she has no idea what it all does to him internally. He presses his eyes shut for a second at the thought of how deep those words were buried, how suddenly easy it was in that moment to set them free. How much they made sense once they were out there in the open. How gut wrenching it all feels now that they've been said—now that he's heard Danny say them in return.

Never occurred to him to think they'd been overheard. By Catherine or anyone else. In that moment, both under the ground and then again above, it had only been the two of them. Him and Danny.

She's opened the car door, eyes studying the ground at her feet. When she looks up, he offers a smile. She sighs. "I guess I just really don’t understand how you and Danny are always… Well. I don't know. It doesn't really matter, I guess.” She's smiling back at him, but he can tell she's not feeling it. Shuts the door and with one last searching look, drives off.

He heads into the house, shuts the door behind him and just stands there, staring at nothing. Feeling totally drained.

** 

Tossing and turning most of the night has done nothing to help his headache, and Steve finally sits up, elbows on knees as he rubs his fingers over his eyes. He's so tired—tired and achy and worn down. Feels like he hasn't slept in days, and he really hasn't.

The clock reads 3:13 and he knows sleep is done. Shifts to turn on the small lamp by his bed thinking he might read for a while to let his mind take a break from everything filling it; he sure doesn’t needs to add to the piles already stacked sky high in there. Sits up, grabs a magazine from his bed table, and opens it up. 

By 3:15, he's had enough.

Rests the open magazine on his chest and wonders what Danny's doing. Well, besides sleeping. Or, he assumes he'd be sleeping because it's 3:16 in the morning and what else would Danny be doing? Which just throws the image of Amber right into his brain and he so doesn't want to think of what else Danny might be doing, especially with Amber. Assuming Amber is even over there. Then again, where else would she be since they didn't make it to Maui? So yeah, probably most assuredly she's over there. with Danny. Not sleeping.

And oh god, why can't he stop thinking about Danny?

To think it was his bright idea to push Danny into trying to make himself happy by staying with Amber.

God. Throws the magazine across the bed in frustration and shoots to his feet before dropping himself to the floor. Push ups, he needs push ups to tire him out, distract him—hopefully push out thoughts of Catherine and Danny and Amber and, shit. Ten years age difference. Right. She looks like the nanny, for shit’s sake.

I love you, too.

_Once you say it you can't take it back._

He'd said just that to Danny, or something close to it, back when Danny was with Gabby. Long enough ago he'd forgotten about it until…well, until he let loose his own _I love you_ to Danny. He was right, he was so right. It can't be taken back.

Not that he exactly wants to, but he's not sure how having those words out there is helping anything. Not him or his state of mind, that's for sure. He'd said it the first time in answer to Danny's joking but stress filled, 'I hate you', when they didn't know whether or not they were going to make it out alive. He’d had to say it--could not leave those words unsaid.

Then when they were free, right there under a bright sun and out in the open for all to see—including Catherine, apparently—he'd again made that declaration to Danny in answer to Danny admitting the same. Hearing Danny return those words just brought it all home. To him, anyway.

Clear his head, that's what he needs to do. Those words are taking up too much room in there, filling up all the space and he needs to just clear his head and—ah, too dark for a swim. Rummages for shorts and a t-shirt, shoves his feet into running shoes and downs a glass of water before heading out into the night. To run. Running's good.

Streetlights illuminate a glowing path along the road and he sets out without thinking about anything but moving his legs forward, and this is perfect. Exactly what he needs to keep images and words and his partner and his not-exactly-his-girlfriend out of his mind.

Mile one is hard. His body just screams to go back to bed. It's tired and sore and too early even for him but he pushes through and wonders again about those words that now connect him and Danny even more. How easy they were to say.

Mile two feels better. Loosening up. His feet find rhythm and his breathing gets in sync. Catherine is…is strong. Beautiful and smart and tough. She'll be okay. When it's all said and done, however this all turns out, he knows she'll be okay.

Mile three releases tight muscles and he rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck. He and Danny have had something electric going between them for years. Right? He's not just imagining it—all those ‘are you married’ comments. He picked up on it right away and not only because he's bisexual, but because it's there. Been there between both of them for years. Years.

Mile four is good. Feels real good. He feels real good—so good, in fact, that he's sure Danny will only be relieved to admit they share a mutual attraction. More than that, even. Attraction. Lust. Love.

Mile five feels like flying. Speed is fast and he's tearing up pavement and, damn, he feels good. Great. Maybe it's not a bad thing at all that he's finally figured out he's quite possibly in love with Danny. 

Mile six is amazing. Endorphins are releasing. He’s in his groove, pacing better than ever. Feels spectacular. Catherine will understand. She’s known him long enough. Knows he’s always been drawn to both women and men. She’ll be fine with it all. He’s sure of it.

Mile seven is slightly confusing as he really could have sworn he'd turned around already—didn’t mean to end up all the way out here as he should have headed back at least a mile and a half or two ago…and of course it now starts to rain. No, not just rain. Downpour.

Mile eight. It’s a deluge. He’s drenched, soaked to the bone as he suddenly finds himself standing in front of the door to Danny's house. Sweaty, wet, tired and completely questioning his sanity.

The door suddenly opens and, yeah. This may not unfold quite like he's envisioned.

"Steve."

"Hey. Danny."

Danny is disheveled and rumpled and clearly still mostly asleep as he's leaning against the doorjamb, staring at Steve with one eye while rubbing the other with the heel of his palm. His hair is all over the place; he looks amazing. Perplexed. And somewhat annoyed.

Seconds tick by. Feels like an hour. Steve tries not to blatantly stare at Danny in his threadbare gray Devils t-shirt with its small rip at the collar or at his navy blue boxer shorts--there's a thread hanging off the right leg--but it's hard.

"Steve?"

"Danny?"

"Okay, stop." Danny says, pulling the door open a little wider and motioning him in. "What? What are you doing here in the middle of the night, Steve?"

Danny's looking a little crooked, his damaged side clearly pulling at him as he pads barefoot toward the kitchen, obviously expecting Steve to follow after.

So Steve does, then spots a pink sweater thrown over the arm of the sofa and it hits him hard. What the hell is he doing here? He shouldn’t be here. This is a mistake.

Danny’s rambling on a bit, mostly to himself it seems. “…figure it’s not life or death or you would have barged in instead of just standing there lightly tapping which, all in all, is fairly weird even for you.” He turns around. “I mean, you could’ve just called.”

Big mistake, Steve thinks again and just utters, "Danny," as Danny's just sort of squinting at him through the dark of the room and all Steve can think of is he has to get out of here. Like now.

"Steve?”

They stare for a long beat then Danny’s looking at him like he’s nuts. “Y’ know, I kinda thought we already covered that whole ‘Danny-Steve’ thing at the door." Grabs a kitchen towel and tosses it over. "Here. You.” Makes swirly motions with his finger then points to the floor. “Do something. Dripping."

Steve catches the towel and wipes away the raindrops still streaming down his body in thin rivulets. When he looks up, Danny is still just standing there. Still staring at him.

"Okay, Steve. I know you’re not here for a case because I know that you know that I'm officially off the clock until Monday. And, strange as this may seem to you, you're supposed to be off, too—and I don’t mean in your obvious crazy-man, one-foot-on the trigger, one-foot-on-the-detonator kind of way, no.”

Steve shifts his feet, his shoes are squelching and he’s about to make a protest comment about having one foot on a detonator when Danny keeps on. Clearly Danny isn’t yet done.

“See, Steve, I know you have the time off of work as well because we were both just sharing lovely underground scenery together after nearly being blown to smithereens by a bomb. So, again, I beseech, implore and beg of you: What are you doing here at—" squints at the green glow of clock on the microwave, "the crack of dawn?"

"It's four-nineteen, actually."

"Four-nineteen. Really."

"Which isn't technically the crack of anything because the sun—" Steve starts and then shuts up as he hears a noise in the hall—a soft shuffling sound and, shit, no. God, please no. No.

He can't take it if Amber comes stumbling out wearing Danny's shirt in some sort of deja-vu moment of the Amber-Grace-Danny meet and greet debacle that’s already been playing through his head for three days and that's just from Danny's description of the event. How completely awful is it going to be if he actually has to experience it as one of the players?

Turns toward the door because, well, he has to get out of here. Now.

"Danno?"

Closes his eyes and oh, god. Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god. It's Grace. Gracie.

He glances up as he turns back and Danny’s sending him just the weirdest look ever before smiling at his daughter in answer. "Hey, Monkey—did we wake you? What are you doing up?"

"I heard noises and I got—Uncle Steve?"

Steve turns and smiles. Grins. Glows. He can't help it; he loves this little girl as much as her father and it's showing all over his face. He knows this and there's no way he can even begin to try and shelve it away. "Hey, you."

She's grinning ear to ear like he's the best middle of the night present ever. He loves this.

"What are you doing here, Uncle Steve?"

"I, well…I was out running and it started raining and I was in the neighborhood, so—"

"So," Danny cuts in, "Uncle Steve, here, thought he'd come in out of the rain because that’s what any sane person would do--and you, you need to get back to bed. Mommy's coming by in the morning to pick you up for school and I don't need you too tired to wake up, okay?"

Grace is staring at him for a long beat, then beams him another full wattage smile before turning back to her dad. "Okay, Danno."

She's nodding toward Danny but again watching him and he smiles at her; it's hard not to rush over and give her a hug. In the end, though, it's okay because she barrels into him like she's been shot out of a rocket, her arms wrapping around him as best she can given he’s so wet. 

He peers down at her shining face. Couldn't be happier.

"'Night, Gracie."

"Night, Uncle Steve--love you." 

Grace wanders away and Steve doesn't remember how to breathe. Really, there is no air.

Danny's quiet for a moment, then bursts out with a snort. "You are such an idiot.”

He can't exactly disagree, but he's also not exactly sure why Danny's saying that and his head is still filled with Grace’s unexpected words. “I don’t know—“

“You thought she was going to be Amber, didn't you?"

Steve closes his eyes and okay, okay, air's going in, coming out. This works, and his heart finally settles down into a pace slightly slower than impending coronary event. When he looks again, Danny's got his arms crossed and he's leaning against the kitchen counter. Still staring.

"Steve?"

"Danny."

"Oh, for—" Danny shakes his head, then rakes fingers through his unruly hair. 

It makes Steve smile, seeing Danny so sleep tousled. Loves that hair.

"Seriously, Steve. Are you having some sort of complete mental failure I should be aware of?"

"What? No, why would you even think that?"

The look on Danny's face—God, this man.

"Why? Because it's four-nineteen in the middle of the night before the ass crack of dawn and you're standing here, in my kitchen, dripping wet from a run that’s too early even for you and are somehow expecting me to assume you were just in the neighborhood with the thought, 'oh, hey. I know! Lemme drop in for a cup of coffee at my partner's house.'"

Danny’s frowning then smirking and looking like hell with traces of scratches and bruises still evident, but he's here and in one piece, Steve reminds himself. Alive. Standing in his kitchen in just a t-shirt and underwear, Albert Einstein hair all crazy and wild and staring at him like he’s certifiable and Steve is thoroughly mesmerized. "Yeah, okay.”

"Okay?"

Steve nods. "Yeah, that whole coffee thing you said but—y' know, if this a bad time I can come back. I mean if you—if you're busy or something." He loves watching Danny roll his eyes and smile.

"Yeah, Steven. Because that's so very me to be busy or something at four-nineteen in the morning."

"Well, actually, it's more like four-twenty-four now or..."

"Coffee." Danny turns to the kitchen. "If we're going to continue to have a conversation at four-nineteen, I'm going to have to have coffee."

"…Four-twenty five."

A hand wave dismisses him. "Let’s stick with four-nineteen. It’s easier to say and doesn’t remind me of just how much sleep I’m not having as I stand here eating up the minutes chatting with you." Danny turns with the coffee pot in hand. "So? Are we?"

Maybe Danny's right that it's too early for this because he's sure Danny's most likely not referring to the exact ‘are we’ question that Steve's brain is suggesting. "Are we…?"

"Coffee, Steven. Having? Drinking?"

He really hadn't meant to run all the way over here to Danny's. Wanted to clear his head, not fill it with more ideas. He’s just not quite ready to reveal everything he’s thinking and feeling to Danny, especially not at this early hour when neither of them are functioning at top performance. "No, I'm—hey. Aren't you supposed to be on Maui, relaxing and not taking in the beaches?" He wants to add 'with Amber' but just can't seem to get the words out. But clearly Danny’s here and not there. Which…good.

"Well, that had been the plan a few days ago, yes," Danny says, "but then, you knew that. Knew, too, that the doctor told me to take it easy for the next couple of weeks or so. You know. Internal, external stitches and all."

Yeah, he did know that. Danny had been checked out, stitched up then loaded up with some heavy-duty antibiotics. He sighs. "I'm sorry, Danny."

"I know that. I do. Because you’ve already said that more than a few handful of times and besides, if you weren't you wouldn't be standing here with me. In my kitchen. At four-nineteen in the morning while making a wet mess of my floor and refusing, for some reason known only to you, to tell me whether or not you're having coffee or why you're even here to begin with."

"I dried off."

"True." Danny says with what seems like a longer and slower than necessary perusal up and down Steve’s body. He then shifts with a grimace and Steve wonders whether he's still in some pain.

"So? Coffee?"

"No,” Steve answers. “But I'll take a glass of water.” He gets up and half fills a glass for himself, setting it down on the counter between them.

Danny looks somewhat disgusted as he plops himself down on one of the stools at the kitchen counter and stares at the glass. Points. "Really, Steve?"

"What?"

"Is this supposed to be some sort of test?"

"Danny?'' He sounds a bit agitated and Steve’s not sure what just happened.

"Don't start with me, Steven. This. You trying to make a point here?" He’s still pointing at the glass, so Steve looks at it and okay. 

"No. I wasn't." He really wasn’t. Yes, he only filled the glass half full, but no, he wasn't waiting for Danny to remark on it being half empty. Sheesh.

"You're sure?" Danny asks, still eyeing him. "You're not waiting for me to say something about how you see the thing half full and I’m always Mr. Negative so I only see it—"

"Jeeze, Danny." Steve drains most of the water in a few swallows and sets it down again. "No, and there. Now we're both seeing it totally empty. Okay?" 

Steve watches him closely. Just in case there's more to this than he’s registering. "So really, D. How are you doing, anyway? It still hurting?"

Their eyes meet; Danny blinks first. "Uh. Twinges. Yeah, now and then. But it was in pretty deep, so…"

He hates hearing that. "Again, Danny. I'm really so sorry."

Another roll of eyes and Danny leans back in a slow upper body stretch. "Yeah, well, you know, you should be aware that the doctor did mention that perhaps your x-ray vision needs to be recalibrated."

"God, Danny.” Steve laughs but it’s so not funny. “I just thought—" He leans against the counter opposite where Danny is sitting and in his mind, sees that blood again. Danny's pain and, Christ, the what-ifs… Looks at Danny face. What the hell is he doing here? It’s too soon for this…and why is Danny waving at him?

"Hey, you in there? Steven, where'd you—ah, there you are." Danny stops snapping fingers at him, but the hand waving continues. "Listen, I know you weren't purposefully trying to kill me. I mean, not this time, anyway. Besides, like you said, it missed my vitals. Just did a little more damage than we figured, and it's okay. I'm okay now. I got a horse pill to choke down every day to stave off infection, so it's good. I'm good."

Steve knew all this, but it still guts him to hear it and he whispers, "I could've killed you."

Which makes Danny laugh. "And this is different from most every other day, how?" He leans forward and rests his hand on Steve's arm. "You didn't, okay? Obviously. But I mean, you have to know there's no one else I'd rather be blown up with, you absolute moron. There, make you feel better? Steve?"

"Danny."

Another snort and Steve could listen to Danny do that all day.

"No, really, Steve. What you can do with a dirty t-shirt and duct tape is nothing short of medical magic—you are a wonder, babe." He pulls up his t-shirt, pushes down his boxers and twists to show the bandage. "Look, see? Swelling's down. Redness is gone. Couple of stitches, I'm good to go. Doesn't hurt anywhere near as godawful like it did when it happened."

Steve pulls his eyes away from all that golden skin showing. And hair. "That's not what you said in the ambulance."

The shirt comes down and Danny’s hand waving again. "It doesn't matter what I said. Then. It only matters what I say now."

"So, what are you saying now?"

"I'm saying you're insane. As usual. Besides, I was trying to just slough it off for Grace and Amber's sake. You know, downplay how bad I felt."

"Danny. You collapsed on the way to the—"

Danny interrupts him. "Stop. Really, Steve. Stop. I'm here. You're here. All good now. Really."

He nods, and it is good. Wishes he could share just how good, but he's now sensing he may need to let this play out a bit first. See where just where the Amber situation is headed. "Still…I'm sorry you didn't get to go to Maui to relax." Which he really isn't sorry about whatsoever. But it feels like he should say it. Say something.

Danny's not looking at him now. "Yeah, well. Not sure that would've worked out so great anyway."

Oh. Hold on. Takes a drink from the empty glass. "Why, uh…why is that?"

"Oh," Danny sighs and Steve's sure there are layers underneath that 'oh'. "Well, Amber's not…she wasn't sure she could get off work and, you know."

Yep. Layers there under that last 'and', too, and Steve so much doesn't know but wants to—he can't ask, though, so... "Oh. Okay."

There’s a smile that definitely doesn’t reach Danny's eyes. "Yeah."

Okay. Steve can't leave it alone. "That doesn't sound so good. Everything still okay?”

Now Danny's watching as he again takes a drink and for god’s sake, there’s no water left in that glass. He knows this. Sets the glass down and puts his hands on his hips and all the while Danny’s still watching him closely, he can feel it. See it. He’s not sure how to read the expression on Danny’s face.

“Okay. No. I don't know. Maybe," Danny says, and traces a finger through the wet ring on the counter. "We just…there's a learning curve, I think. Or something. I mean, Amber…ten years difference—"

Steve coughs.

“What was that?”

Uh… “What?”

“'What', he says.” Danny scoffs and he’s squinting at Steve now. “You. That. That very timed cough when I mentioned the age thing.”

No. He’s not ready to delve into all of this just yet. Puts up a deflecting hand. “Not timed…I just coughed.” He can tell Danny doesn’t believe him, and that just assures him that Danny’s still harboring a little difficulty with the age issue as well.

Danny drops it, then sighs, "I don’t know, Steve. I mean, ten years difference has its, you know. Differences."

"Well, that's very profound." Steve can only admit he's not hating this, any of this, by any stretch. "So what, she wants to go to the theater and you want to stay in and watch old, crappy sci-fi movies that nobody likes?”

“I take it you're referring to _Enemy Mine._ You know it’s a classic.”

“And your favorite.”

“One of…and only you know that, so shut up, you. She doesn’t need to be aware of that just yet.”

Steve can't help but grin at that. “What, that you have extremely bad taste in movies? Trust me, your secret is safe with me.”

“Huh. Safe with you. I think that's kind of an oxymoron.”

Steve laughs. “Okay, then. Differences. Let me guess. She’s into bad love songs and it’s driving you crazy.”

Now Danny laughs. “No. I believe tthat would be you and you already know you drive me crazy.”

“How ‘bout this, then," Steve says. " She wants a romantic night on the beach and you’re afraid of the entire idea.”

“There are places that sand should never be, Steven.”

Tries again. “She wants to go out dancing and you don’t dance?"

"Hah, you're hilarious. You know I can dance, Steven."

“For survival.”

Danny's shaking his head. “Do you have any idea how not funny I find you? But yeah, kinda. So there's that, and, well…some little things. I don't know."

"Little things?"

"Yeah," Danny sighs. "Like, she thinks my shoes are…"

"Are?" Like he hasn't given Danny a hard time about his shoes as well. He can tell Danny is squirming a bit.

"She said they're…old man shoes."

Which has Steve laughing hard. "Too bad she never saw the tie."

Danny’s now laughing, too. Hard. And pointing. "Shut up."

He's trying to stop laughing. "Okay, I'm sorry, Danny. Really. I am. Sorry." Another grimace, only Steve's sure this one has nothing to do with Danny' stitches. "There's more?"

Danny looks embarrassed. He's trying to shrug it off, but clearly whatever it is…

"My, uh…she doesn't like when I use stuff on…" He fades on the words, then rakes fingers through his hair again and mumbles, "She wants me to try…"

Steve has an epiphany. 

"Oh, my god. You can’t. No."

The look of horror on Danny's face tells it all, but then he smiles. "Still, though. She's really nice, has a great sense of humor, and she's from New York. Not to mention, she's pretty hot, right?"

Steve doesn't want to talk about it anymore. "I’m sorry, Danny. Sorry for all of it, really. I just wanted to tell you that."

Danny's scratching through the whiskers on his chin. "Really. So you ran all the way over here in the middle of the night to apologize that I have a hole in my side that you didn't cause and that you're sorry I didn't make it to yet another unbearably hot island." Danny shrugs, then laughs. "It'll still be there next time, right?"

Steve can't do it. As much as he's attracted to his partner, there's still so much standing between them they might as well be waving to each other from separate islands. Wonders if they'll ever be together any closer than they are now.

"Thank you, though. Steve. For saying that—and for saving my life." Danny grasps his hand and looks into his eyes and it's there, right there in that multilevel connection that he's sure he sees a spark of something much deeper than just friendship. They're connected. He can feel it. Knows Danny can feel it.

There's a fire burning deep. He’s going to add fuel to it—a spark here, a spark there. He’s going to get them to ignite. 

"You're welcome," he replies. "And Danny?"

"Yeah?" Danny still hasn't stopped looking at him.

“I like it. I like your hair just the way it is. It’s very…you.”

"My hair. You do." And slowly a smile forms on Danny's face, and once more, to Steve’s delight, Danny's fingers rake through his hair. "Well, it is nice. And, yeah, it is me. I mean, what's not to like?"

Steve smiles back. “Nothing, Danny. Not a damn thing.”

Definitely sparks.

End.


End file.
